


Action

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 06:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5446820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times in which Abbie does nothing and one time where she takes action. Concurrent with the start of Series 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Action

The first time is in their local bar. Just after Jenny gives Crane a “much needed make-over.” His shorter hair started it, her sister insisted. He’s nine months widowed, he’s seen more of the modern world, the way things are now – it’s time he caught up.

Much to Abbie’s surprise – she clearly recalls the “absolutely not” days of the pink and brown striped jumper – he goes along with it.

In the bar, he wears a navy blue, thin-knit sweater over a button-down brown shirt. Jeans. Brogues. A little woven bracelet about his wrist. She goes to the bathroom and when she comes back, the waitress has engaged him in conversation about the alignment of stars tonight or some such nonsense. She tells herself she doesn’t care if women start falling at his feet.

* * *

The second time is in their local Starbucks. He’s got his long coat back, the one that smells far nicer than it ought to, of pine and woodsmoke and clean wool, considering its age, my God –

The barista writers her phone number on Ichabod’s cheerful red cup with a little kiss and mouthes “call me” as they leave. She thinks he’s oblivious, until later, when he says, “Lieutenant, if I weren’t sure of the opposite, I would postulate that you are perturbed by the black marker missive upon my cardboard drinking vessel.”

She tells him to shut up.

* * *

The third time, they’re in the farmers’ market. He’s talked Abbie into coming along so she can taste the freshly baked bread, the home-made soup, the artisan brownies. She’s on board with the brownies part. And indeed they are delicious – stuffed with glace cherries, cranberries and macadamia nuts, she could eat them all damn day.

The seller on the brownie stall, though, is clearly interested in more than just peddling her wares. Crane asks about the production process and launches into a “some scholars do say, Miss, that the quality, and moreover, the origin of the chocolate used, directly affects…” Because of course he says that. She rolls her eyes.

When he’s halfway through, she notices that the seller has started to touch his arm, clad in the tweed jacket Jenny found for him in a vintage store. He doesn’t seem to mind.

But Abbie realises that she does mind. A lot.

Fuck.

* * *

It all comes to a head when she sees that he’s kept, through forgetfulness or intention, she’s not sure, the cup with the “black marker missive” on. Did he call her? Did she answer? Is there a date in the offing? She thinks on that for a while until it drives her slightly stir crazy.

So when he comes back from the Archives, smelling of old books and black coffee and just him, she tells herself she’s not giving anyone else a look in. He’s hers; it just took her longer than usual to come to realise it. She has been slightly busy with an Apocalypse after all.

He hasn’t but closed the door when she’s on him, pressing him into the wall, her gaze searching his, fingers curling into the collar of that ridiculous coat.

He arches a brow. “Is there some way in which I can assist you, Lieutenant?”

“You know there is.” And she kisses him, fierce and hungry, and God, he’s delicious.

As they part, she hears him chuckle very softly in that too-appealing baritone, and she thinks: Goddamn. He knew. He knew how she felt, this whole time, and kept it to himself.

Cocky bastard.


End file.
